


Hearts Awaken

by UrsulaU



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, F/M, Horses, Native American Character, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrsulaU/pseuds/UrsulaU
Summary: The revenge you so longed for was reincarnated in eight riders sheltered in the color of their demons.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Violent language

_It was a cold morning with a distant smell of winter and sheltered behind a mantle of suspicious tranquility before dawn. Even the dogs didn’t bark and the cricket didn’t sound. Stillness woke you up. You removed the skins that made up your warm shelter to look around you. At your side was your progenitor, asleep; breathing from her relieved a fear by implanting itself in your small interior. But the rejoicing lasted a brief moment when the heartbreaking scream from outside filled your being with bitterness._

“Get up!”.

Suddenly the cold water collided with the little warmth your body could muster that night, causing a chill to run through every stretch of meat. You woke up overwhelmed and coughing, with stretches of straw in your jet-haired mane. The person in charge looked at you from his place, with fierce eyes and tobacco in his mouth. You looked down without answering or complaining, the two days of punishment had passed, you didn’t want to add another one.

You didn’t respond to the insult or feel hurt, why be? That’s what you were, a dakota, and it wasn’t bad, but it looked like it was to pale faces. The man gave you one last look before he left. You already knew what to do, meet with others to gather that season’s harvest. There was no breakfast, you counted on the crumbs you had picked the night before to support the day.

“Let’s go to work, Red Indian”.

You went for your things so as not to waste time from the porch you were supposed to call owner, he was watching you. Kevin Brown had bought you at a village auction where you along with other children from other tribes were sold to serve in planting, with cattle or to be a slave to pale faces. Brown had been widowed, and being a pest in domestic chores, he decided to spend the money on you. From that day on, he kept telling you how grateful you should be with his generous action, because according to him, you would be dead.

Death frightened the pale face very much.

You walked head down, your feet barely clothed in what at first glance seemed to be under cooked pieces of skin and your calves decorated with a second layer of earth and mud. Yesterday a calf had got stuck in the mud, you and others had to take it out while Brown only yelled how useless and incapable they all were for not getting an animal out in less time.

You met with the other workers, your knees burned thanks to the hot earth, the eye of the Sun was placed on everyone’s back, hurting them. As a child you loved the sun for its warmth, you liked to dance to the same rhythm as those dust motes sometimes invisible, sometimes visible, a sun party to which you liked to join while listening to the laughter of your mother, grandmother and other women…

You intentionally cut off part of your finger against a sharp stone to forget the nostalgia. Remembering them would not revive them, their souls were in nature, and they did not suffer, you should not weep for them, but for the unjust death that the pale face had given to all your people.

At times the desire for revenge invaded your spirit but it was not in your hands to execute it, your ancestors would take care of it, would be those who traced with the blood of your dead the fate of the guilty. It comforted your damaged heart and gave peace to your conscience.

At the end of a third of the harvest you were called by Brown, who dipped his neck and soaked his face in the hair trough, ordering you to bring apples to the neighboring orchard. You came despite the distance you had to travel, if you walked with a fast pace, hopefully you would get there before the coyote howled.

Along the way you came across wagons filled with pale faces and horses being ridden by paler faces. You didn’t look at them because there were always problems when you looked them in the face, it infuriated them that you did it, and they started hitting you or complaining. With your people, to look yourself in the face, in the eyes, was to show your soul and teach your fellow man what you could offer: your honesty, kindness, loyalty, your anger…

You came to the orchard, an oasis in the middle of the dryness. From what you knew that was the only green place found in that area, everything around you was dust, footprints of ghost horses and blue and gold horizon, in addition to being the favorite playground for the sun that practiced its games of confusions and hallucinations. You jumped the fence, old Brown liked Mrs. Collin’s apples, although he also liked her; the woman had strictly forbidden him to approach her property during the absence of her husband, who had marched with the army to make the homeland proud, but Brown was not afraid of that. The last time Mrs. Collin saw you take her apples, she had threatened to have you chased by the wildest hunting dogs she could buy. But Collin’s threat lost its effect when Brown pulled out his belt and his buckle tore the skin off your back for failing to comply with the order.

You did the usual: climb the trees, caress the reddish skin of their shell and vacuum, even without cutting the cluster, the aroma to guess which apple was ready and which was not, because it would be unfair to cut a life that was not yet ready; you put more than a dozen in the basket you always brought to do your job.

You mentally entrusted the mission to one of those apples to drown old Brown through their juicy meat or nectar; you came down from the tree willing to leave when barking between your teeth made you turn.

It was a pack, a big pack. So much was his strength that he raised dust behind his paws. Your instinct dictated running and forgetting the apples, leaving Mrs. Collins’ property, believing the dogs wouldn’t have to follow your path, but they surpassed the fence with the agility with which they were characterized.

You ran and ran, it was the only thing you could do, you felt the jaws of the animals touch the flesh of your feet. Your heart was beating and you feared that it would stop because of the force you were forcing it to beat. It was a long way to Brown’s land and you didn’t have the strength, a few crumbs of bread and water wouldn’t get you out of the pack. And though there was no obstacle in your way, and the earth was moved as you ran, and there was no stone to hinder you, and though your ancestors helped you, it was your spirit that was weak and weary. And you reflected in that space of time that you were fleeing from death, that the fear of the pale face of death had stuck to you. The idea made you tremble. Your people weren’t cowards.

You turned and picked up a stone, throwing it towards one of the snouts of the first dog that emitted a whimper but did not stop the rest. You went back and took more rocks, throwing them, sometimes on the heads of some of them or other parts of the body, but they didn’t stop. You yelled at them, you grunted, you shouted the war cries that the men of your tribe used to make, the animals only showed their teeth but did not move away. You threw earth, you showed your teeth, your frown, you showed them courage. And as they continued to advance you began to retreat, your chest shaken, your head aching and the heavy burden of survival.

Seeing your weakness, the pack regained strength and went straight to you.

You let them come, you closed your eyes and visualized a sunset, the end of the cycle of the day, the favorite moment for which you waited, when all your people gathered around the fire, formed the circle that represented the unity of their tribe… the way your mother sheltered you in her arms and your father laughed at the chief’s stories…

The shot cuts through the air just as the image of your head made you open your eyes. The dogs had scattered and returned to where they came from while the earth was stained with blood because of the dead dog in front of you. You watched him, verifying his death through pale eyes. You looked at your sides, questioning whether someone was playing target shooting or whether you should run again.

A shadow burst the curtain of the sun upon you. You couldn’t ignore his presence and you turned around. A man in black, riding on an ash mustang. You saw him put his gun away. The outlaw’s eyes first went to give to the dog and then to you. You couldn’t identify his face, the shadow made by his hat hid half of his face but you could detect his bloodlust. You instinctively stepped back. When you kill an animal without mercy, killing a person is easier, you lose sympathy for the life of others.

He didn’t say anything, he just took the reins of the horse that advanced with glasses steps by your side. You didn’t let him out of your sight, the black silhouette that represented his back was the highlight of that dry and sparse scenario.


	2. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violent language.

You didn’t bother to go back to Browns’ ranch until tonight. The lights inside the big house illuminated through the windows, indicating that the old man was drinking whiskey, with the whip in his hands, his stinking boots on top of the bear skin he had hunted last winter in the mountains and a macabre smile as he imagined the leather of the torture instrument hitting your exposed skin, adding one more scar to the collection you had on your back.

You took slow steps, like you carried coal instead of feet. You were exhausted, not only by what happened in the orchard and with the dogs, but by the widespread thought you dedicated to what the old man would do to you as soon as you arrived without apples or in time. Surely Eva had to do everything in the kitchen in your absence, cursing you between the teeth and making noise with her cane, as well as complaining about her back, of course. Needless to say, what Noa and Yumav had to endure, Brown certainly took it out on them when he didn’t find you —you, his favorite toy.

You didn’t want to get there, but you couldn’t escape either. You’d die just trying or you’d be raped or abducted by another pale face the same as or worse than the old man. Your options were limited. You closed the fence, Brown’s cattle moved at the noise, and the horses whinnied, it seemed that all the animals had agreed to give you a noisy welcome; one that the old man would not ignore.

You tried to sneak into the barn, knowing that Eva and the others would have locked the door to the small room where they were staying —it was something they always did so that the old man, being drunk, wouldn’t come in— and even if you begged they wouldn’t open. It was your fault for coming in so late. You closed the barn doors, it was dark and smelled like manure, the usual.

You gathered straw to remake your bed when in a quick and unknown movement your back was found against the wood of the barn. The dry noise confirmed the force with which you were pushed, drawing out a sore whimper as it was caught by the hand that covered your mouth. You immediately deduced that it was Brown, you foolishly thought he would be on his couch, drinking, but he was waiting for you. Now it would rain the blows, you would have to bite the inside of your cheeks not to shout so loud —if you shouted loudly, he hit you harder— and bear it.

But the whip didn’t come, no one would open the fabric on your back or put you on the floor to hit you and insult you. That wait made you feel anxious, anguished, would it be another kind of torture?

“Shh” the sound, similar to that of a rattlesnake indicating its presence and danger, made you feel confused.

Little by little you opened your eyes, but it was dark and the tall figure in front of you mixed perfectly with the dark tone. You dared to swallow. You could taste the leather of his gloves over your lips and the renegade scent on it. All of him was a shadow that embraced you.

“Are you the dakota girl?”.

You nodded out of pure instinct, thinking of nothing but cooperation rather than inquiry because a stranger would ask for you or be curious.

“Don’t shout” he said after you answered.

He separated his hand from your mouth and you were silent, as he ordered, looking at him, or trying to do so because you could not locate his face, you were only guided by his deep voice.

“Come with me” he command you again, opening the barn doors effortlessly, he was strong, that it would probably break your neck if you tried to escape.

He waited for you to come out, to keep an eye on you. You did it, walking slow. He pointed to the big house and they both went there. You climbed the porch, watched at your own pace, more confused than at first. Where were they all?

“Open, I found her”.

The man spoke and the door opened, making the usual squeal for lack of oil. A second figure was shown, dressed in black and hat. You didn’t have time to get a good look at his face because the guy in the back pushed you and the other guy just stepped to one side. He told you to walk again, and you did it like this. On your way you saw the rest kneeling and with their hands behind their necks, heads down. There were more men, dressed in black, guarding them with guns in their hands. When they heard you, they watched you, their masks covering part of their faces, only showing you the depth of their eyes. That was enough for you, you knew they were sinners who were constantly accumulating misfortunes with every stray bullet.

You thought they would make you kneel and join the others, to be slaughtered, but the man who attacked you in the barn told you to go up to the second floor. They came to Brown’s room, he was on the floor, breathing heavily and with blows to the head; for a brief moment you experienced rejoicing, but when you felt that great hand on one of your shoulders you stopped, you returned to your reality.

“Hyung, it’s her”.

Two figures moved to see you. Faces uncovered and in black clothes. The pairs of eyes stuck in your figure and you felt dense, what would they want with you? If they had beaten Brown, taken the house, why didn’t they just take the valuables?

“You” the other man, who compared to the one who was ordering you looked smaller (but still tall to you, only a little) called you “, come here”.

You didn’t know how to react, you just stood there until the guy behind you pushed you; you walked to where you were called, to the edge of the old man’s bed. There you discovered a third man, lying down, sweating and stirring. His face reflected pain and agony, his tightly closed eyelids indicated suffering.

You looked at who he called you, not understanding.

“Heal him” he ordered, and when you were near you appreciated his face; young, brown, with a strange cut that reminded you of those times when Brown sheared the boys, just for fun, making them cry because of the razor that savagely wounded their scalp.

You looked at the dying man again, cured him of what? You weren’t a healer or a shaman, you didn’t have that gift.

“I…” You denied “. I can’t. I am not…”.

“The old man over there says yes”.

Someone hit Brown’s ribs, making him cry.

“He said you are good with poisons” the strangely cut man glanced at the sick man, the blond man still with his eyes tightly clenched. “He was stung by a snake half a day ago”.

“The poison was already…” Surely the poison was already all over his body, veins, organs, you couldn’t do anything, but the man interrupted your excuse and put the tip of the revolver on your temple. Cold contact with the gun made you tighten your lips.

“Do it” his voice did not seem intimidating to you at first, it was soft compared to his hostile and strange appearance, but the tone had changed, he sounded furious.

You looked at old Brown still on the floor, and the bandit close to him kicked him again.

“Just get the poison out of him, you fucking bitch” he shouted in pain.

You looked at the dying man and then at the one who was still pointing the gun at you.

“Where was he bitten?

“In the leg”.

You got closer, your hands straight to the indicated area. You removed the fabric from the pants and saw the bite. That pair of deep holes. You stroked them lightly with your fingertips, making the dying man wince. A metallic click near your temple, the other subject had not removed his revolver from you.

“Herbs”.

“What?”.

“I need herbs. To cure him” you started to recognize the affected stretches, this thanks to the swelling.

The men looked at each other, the one next to you spoke:

“What herbs?”.

“The old lady downstairs knows which ones”.

He gestured to the big guy who had taken you there, out of the room.

“What else do you need?”.

You moved his leg without the slightest care, causing the light-haired one to scream.

You didn’t look at him or who he was pointing the gun at.

“Much, much faith” you replied.

* * *

  _"If the word is s_ _poken, things exist. The word in men’s mouths has powers. But when the wise man finds the right words and knows how to pronounce them with the right feeling, they heal. That is when the word ceases to be a word to be a prayer, and prayer ceases to be a prayer to be a cure…”._

_The chief’s words were hardly a murmur to you, a distant one, for you were lost in the warmth of the arms of your mother who sat near the fire, beside your grandmother and father. All were attentive to the chief’s counsel, not because he was the chief, but because he was the wise man of the tribe. Not only did he heal the sick with prayers that the spirits whispered into their ears and he pronounced properly, he also revealed the hidden messages on earth, in heaven and in water, or when someone had dreams that he could not comprehend, he made them clear._

_Your mother stirred you gently, she didn’t want you to sleep in the middle of something so important. You even felt your father’s look._

_“If you don’t pay attention, how can you go with me tomorrow to recognize the poisonous of the non-poisonous?”._

_With regret you settled into your mother’s lap, struggling against sleep to listen to the chief’s advice._

It wasn’t the language of the pale face that your lips loosened, it was the language of your people. Your roots. You applied that odorous paste of herbs that Eva always stored in the affected area and you did not stop praying. They were a few words that you had learned from your people, you didn’t know the rest due to the massacre of your tribe, with no one left to teach you the rest.

Many like you were uprooted from their tribes at a very early age, being sold to whites. The majority had to forget, obligatorily, the rituals, the lullabies, the symbols, the memories and everything that represented the tribe of each one to avoid being beaten, humiliated and even killed. You had not even been saved from it, for you did not even remember the name your mother had given you. Not hearing it had made you forget it, and you only reacted to the insults that the pale faces had made your name seem.

But you remembered the prayers, not complete, not all of them, but part of them. And you remembered how to get poison out.

You began to be hot, because you had not stopped putting herbs in the calf of the man nor in repeating the prayers, from beginning to end, ignoring the dryness of your mouth and trying to ignore, equally, the still cold contact of the weapon put in your head. The other man hadn’t left your side all that time.

More men went in and out, to bring herbs, water for the dying, to pull out Brown’s unconscious and throw him into the hallway; you heard noise below, fortunately not of weapons. You chewed the herbs to make pasta, squeezing the juice, and then repeated the prayers again, without grimacing at the bitter taste. When you saw the herbs turn dark, you changed them.

You didn’t have visual access to the men, but after going through the shock of the moment, finding yourself surrounded by them and with that gun in your head, you remembered what happened in the morning. You didn’t know the man who shot the dog was one of them, or if it was the one pointing at your head, or maybe it was another and your hunches were confused, but it was too coincidental. There were almost no bandits in these parts, Brown’s ranch was little compared to the northernmost gold mines or the counties with banks, but that did not prevent the old man from having a shotgun at hand. And although the area was not safe either, those suspects on horseback only passed by, keeping their distance when the old man showed up on the porch with the shotgun loaded; Brown was not one of those who invited in those who could kill him.

But there are always first times.

_“Man can store up riches, sins and tragedies, but never favors. Favors go beyond the physical, sometimes they are the difference between life and death. It’s important to receive and give favors. It’s a fundamental barter in the soul of our tribe. Never owe a favor”._

And even if you didn’t want to save him, because he was a pale face, because they would surely kill you later, you wouldn’t leave the world without a favor. You didn’t want your soul to get stained.

“Knife” you asked.

The three men —for the moment— inside the room looked at you, suspiciously. Did you sense the thought that crossed their minds, an native with a knife near his dying and vulnerable companion? Of course those looks.

“I won’t rip his scalp out” that wasn’t tradition in your tribe. “I’ll use it to draw the excess blood” you explained.

The one on the other side of the room looked at who you guessed was the boss —the one with the gun— waiting for his answer.

This one addressed you.

“If you make a move, I’ll blow your head off”.

“If I wanted him to die, I would have let him die, even with your gun to my temple. The death of a pale face wouldn’t keep me awake. I’m just returning one favor for another favor”.

You replied.

The eyes of both were connected and you did not know which reflex was found on the other side of those pupils, they were cloudy.

“Give her the knife” ordered the leader.

They gave you the knife and you watched the dying man.

“It’ll hurt” and you cut it.

Brown’s room was filled with screams.

Fortunately, they weren’t yours.

* * *

You wiped your mouth and erased the traces of saliva mixed with blood and poison from your chin. You saw the blackish liquid in the bucket, that was the poison. You’d been sucking on it for over an hour, your jaw hurt as well as your neck.

The rooster crowed and the sun hit your face. You sighed as you threw the poison into the well you had made, burying it.

You weren’t alone, they kept an eye on you. Just like the rest that were still inside the house, while old Brown was in the rocking chair, sore, beaten and tied up. When you finished burying the toxins, you went to the well to carry water. Since none of the bandits were willing to have everyone free around the house, now you were the one obeying their orders. You took out the bucket and walked into the house. It had been an exhausting night, for him, but especially for you.

You came to the bed where the blonde-haired man was, and to your surprise, he was awake. His eyes rested on your figure, then on your face, on your messy hair, on your hands coloured with greenish material and your dry lips. He formed a smile.

“Hello” he saluted.

You didn’t answer, you just focused on pouring the water into the jug, waiting for more directions from the leader who was stretching and looking through the window.

“If you’re already courting, Seonghwa, it means you can ride”.

“Come on, Hongjoong, don’t be grumpy. I’m alive. Or so I think” he stopped talking to who you thought Hongjoong was to see you “is it true, isn’t it? Am I alive?

You just nodded, cut your answers. You had to be more careful now that they didn’t need you anymore.

This Seonghwa guy chuckled.

“It’s lucky I took a shower yesterday, I didn’t expect a nice woman to kiss my leg”.

You looked the other way, not knowing what to say. Did that man call you ‘nice’?

“Fever is not yet low” you concluded, and the blond man laughed again at your comment.

“Lucky Seonghwa has nice legs”.

Someone else came in, her hair similar to that ash mustang you saw. His fleshy lips formed a smile when he saw you.

“I’m sure if it had been San, or Mingi, she wouldn’t have dared to bring her lips closer with the hyung gun in her head” he said.

You didn’t react. How was you supposed to do that in the middle of a situation like that?

“Wooyoung, call San, pick up Seonghwa and help him get on the horse, we’ve already lost a lot of time”.

“Next time I’ll try not to take so long to die” was Seonghwa’s sarcastic comment.

“It would be a great favor on your part” Hongjoong replied.

* * *

The bandits, led by Hongjoong, had locked everyone in the barn, except you and Brown —who was still in the rocking chair with a huge pounding and bruises— who were on the porch, watching the bandits assemble their chair, or helping the newly revived Seonghwa get on his steed.

“San, get your fucking hand off my ass!”.

“You mean the opposite! You get your ass out of my hand!”.

“For Esther’s breasts, stop fighting!”.

You bit your inner cheek, it was funny the behavior of those three —if you remember well they were Seonghwa, San and Wooyoung. After several attempts, complaints related to Seonghwa’s ass, they finally managed to get him up.

San sighed as if he had done a tiresome job and looked at his leader.

“I will never touch his ass again”.

The others didn’t immute at his words.

San wiped his hands over his pants and gave you a look. You diverted the eyes without knowing why, that man’s gaze was… deep. When you returned your sight again, believing that this one surely entered in arranging his chair, you found the surprise that he looked at you playfully, to nod for himself and to snap the fingers, attracting the attention of all. Including your curiosity.

“Can we keep her? She already proved that she knows about poisons, having her would prevent me from hearing Mingi cry and inherit the crap he calls treasures to imaginary girlfriends”.

The petition sounded so out of place that even you opened your eyes in surprise. Although his tone seemed humorous, as if what he said most of the time was a joke, there was a seriousness anchored to his words. And because of the tired sigh of another of the boys, the one on the brown horse and you had seen an apple split in half without any problem, he scolded him

“Oh no, San. The last time it was a possum, which by the way you suffocated when you fell asleep, now do you want to adopt a girl? The answer is no”.

 “But she knows about poisons!”.

“And to kill” said Hongjoong.

“Of course, and we don’t do that too” said San, putting his hands in his pockets, taking funny steps towards you.

You instantly regressed. Seeing your action, he stopped and only smiled at you from a distance. That confused you more.

“I like her eyes”.

“Hm?”.

“They are a mixture of hatred, resignation, courage and scarce peace; when mixed it results in a beautiful color”.

You heard one say, you watched the tallest two in the group.

That comment made you frown. What did he know about the color of your eyes?

You watched him unconsciously. And he only smiled at you, smiled at you in such a gentle manner that it gave you chills. How could a man smile like that after reading your eyes perfectly?

Of all of them, he probably made you more nervous.

A sharp blow got you out of your trance. You heard old Brown complain and watched him, again, on the floor. Hongjoong had cut his strings and looked at you.

Then he looked at San, who smiled in response.

“He won’t get up from the ground for several days, San took it out on him”.

“I hate men who mistreat women” he commented.

Wooyoung snorted.

“Says the man who murdered his fiancée”.

“That was a very different case. She deserved it”.

“Aha”.

Hongjoong tried not to roll his eyes.

“But as soon as he does, he’ll be the same old bastard again. And again all of you will begin your sad lives”.

Hoongjoong drew a knife, which he drew and extended toward you. Of course, you didn’t take it.

“Or you can do your good deed and cut his throat, free all those people”.

“Aren’t you going to kill us?”.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’d have nothing to gain by killing all you, except to soil my new pants”.

You watched the knife, not knowing whether to take it or not. Would you be able to kill Brown? For many nights you dreamed of it, but when you saw it in the face, when he yelled at you, or just hit you, you hesitated to even do so. Killing a person wasn’t like cutting a chicken’s throat, and even if you did it every day, you still felt sorry for the animal; feeling sorry for the animals, that their death hurt you, still meant that a person’s death would hurt more, even if it was old Brown.

Hongjoong put the knife away when he saw you weren’t taking it. San released a sound of disappointment and the rest of the bandits decided to ride a horse, bringing the scene to a close.

Hongjoong walked down the stairs of the porch, his spurs tinkling, you watched his feet, the way he walked away. You heard the horses stirring restlessly, the metal of the reins… the sound of what might have been your only chance to avenge yourself.

“What are you doing there, stupid?! Come and help me!”.

You heard the old man screaming and insulting, you looked at him with disgust. You always avoided contact with him, he disgusted you. That’s why you kept yourself as unattractive as possible, although in the eyes of a lustful man that didn’t matter, but it had worked with Brown, that and the paprika —he is allergic to paprika — you sprinkled on your clothes.

You took a look at the outside of the corral, they were already leaving, and you stayed there, with everyone and with Brown, living that life. You squeezed your lips, wishing you could have taken that knife, but your fingers were so hard that you doubted you could even take the weapon.

Downstairs, Brown was still yelling at you and you were staring out at the sky. It was so blue, so beautiful.

In the midst of your self-absorption, where Brown’s voice disappeared as well as the pull on your skirt, a distant echo of horse footsteps infiltrated your mind.

But it was his voice that brought you to reality.

“Hey, girl” he called you and you looked at his face. Hidden under that hat and the mask, you could hardly guess the movement of his lips, you recognized the horse: the ash mustang, and you could identify it, the one who saved you. He looked around the place and then at you “, you can choose to stay on this piece of land forgotten by the devil himself and stay frustrated every day your owner keeps breathing and didn’t die with his saliva” he pointed to old Brown, who could barely see who was telling you all that. You saw him raise an eyebrow and continued “, or you can join us, be useful and join us until we consider you disposable or run away from us, without a bullet hitting you; whichever comes first. What do you say?“;

For a moment you thought he was joking, but of all of them he was the one with the most serious face. You felt a little strange being called a girl as if he was much older, because of his appearance you deduced that he was younger than you. But his broad shoulders and that aura made up for the lack of years and made him a dangerous subject.

You looked at him, hesitating. He was still staring at you.

You looked down at old Brown, he had you by the ankle, looking at you with rage, as if he guessed your dark thoughts.

“Don’t even think about it, bitch” he hissed furiously.

You looked back at the bandit.

“I’m coming” you replied.

Brown screamed in pain when you stomped on his hand. Unable to stand up or catch you, he could only see you riding the chair of that shameless man who, brazenly, took off his hat to say goodbye.

And you spit and looked at him with contempt.

The mustang whinnied. You looked at the sky, felt the wind in your face and inhaled the smell of leather.

The sky seemed more blue and the sunlight more welcoming.

**Author's Note:**

> So… it's all, for today. This work is on my Tumblr as well. You can search me like @noah-blues. Thank you for reading!


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